


All That Glitters

by blackslupins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 11:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21409570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackslupins/pseuds/blackslupins
Summary: Draco Malfoy hates Harry Potter, but also... doesn't. Maybe he wants more than a rivalry could ever offer.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 131





	All That Glitters

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fan-work and all characters and respective fandom-related content belong to the copyright holders. I make no monetary profit from these works, nor do I condone anyone using my writing to do so.

_“Why didn’t you tell her? Bellatrix. You knew it was me. You didn’t say anything.”_

_ Draco couldn’t speak. His wand arm trembled with fear. Fear for what would happen if he said the truth._

_ “I don’t owe you an explanation, Potter,” he spat._

_ Those were the last words he spoke before the room erupted into flames._

* * *

Draco felt a soft breeze enter through the windows of the corridor and lightly ruffle his hair. Muttering to himself, Draco pushes some hair out of his face just in time to see Potter talking to a short girl in a yellow and black scarf over her robes, her face brightened with admiration.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Beatrice. Looks better shorter,” Potter was saying with a charming smile. The Hufflepuff in question blushed, tucking a short curl behind one of her now rosy ears.

“You think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” said Potter earnestly, as he continued to walk down the corridor. He paused briefly as he passed Draco, who stood still and gaped at the Boy Who Lived. It was a split second, so quick Draco would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring at Potter with such amazement. His eyes flicked down and then he winked, chuckling as Draco’s pale cheeks flushed.

Harry Potter had _winked_ at him.

Draco scowled when Potter had left, sure he had imagined the entire interaction.

But he knew better.

Potter had been different since he’d returned after the war. He held his head higher, didn’t slump as he walked, and strut about as though he didn’t care what people thought about him. Most of all, Potter smiled at strangers in the hallways, seemed to know almost everyone’s name, and complimented those he found attractive shamelessly. The most surprising though, was that Potter didn’t just flirt with girls. He flirted with _boys_ too. And Draco had found himself at the receiving end of said flirtation exactly two times. Not that he was keeping track.

Draco didn’t care that Potter found him somewhat attractive. He didn’t care what Potter thought of him at all.

All right, so maybe he did. But only a little.

With a great sigh, Draco trudged upstairs towards the library. With any luck, he’d be able to find an empty table and finish his homework. Most people weren’t willing to share any sort of space with an ex-Death Eater.

When he emerged through the shelves in the west corner of the enormous library, Draco’s shoulders sagged as he found every table occupied.

“Draco—over here!” came the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood. She sat alone except for—

_Potter_.

Draco was about to turn and leave; he’d rather study while hanging on to one of the branches of the Whomping Willow than share a table with Potter. But then he changed his mind. Draco Malfoy would never move and admit defeat to Harry Potter for as long as he lived. If he wanted to sit at this table, then he bloody well would. He’d do as he pleased.

“Hello, Luna,” said Draco cordially as he pulled out a chair next to her—opposite Potter. He purposely looked only at the sandy-haired Ravenclaw as he spoke, so that Potter knew he wasn’t going to talk to him.

“We were just talking about you,” said Luna.

Draco raised his brow. “Really,” he said without interest as he tugged his Charms books out of his satchel.

“Harry had just mentioned how lovely your hair looks now that you’ve stopped using gel on it.”

“Did he now.”

“Yes, and I agreed very much. It made your hair look sticky. And it smelled funny.”

“Mhm.” Draco dipped his quill and set out his roll of parchment.

“Oh, did I tell you about what this baby thestral did yesterday—“

Draco set down his quill. “Not that I wouldn’t very much like to hear what you have to say, Luna, but I do have a Charms essay to write and I don’t quite think you deserve any less than my full attention.”

“Of course—I have an essay to finish too,” Luna nodded solemnly. She settled into writing as though their conversation had never happened. Draco shifted his gaze to Potter, who had an unevenly cut piece of parchment full of his untidy scrawl in front of him. Potter was staring at him.

“Well?” Draco snapped, but without any real annoyance. He felt almost... _flattered_ that Potter was looking at him. Not that he’d ever say as much. Besides, most people tended to look at him anyway. Whether it be in disgust or something more, it was something Draco had thought himself as accustomed to.

But maybe Potter looking at him without the burning hatred he used to once have in his deep green eyes was something he’d never become accustomed to.

“Nothing.” Potter started scratching on his parchment once more.

Draco was tempted to comment on the Gryffindor’s messy scrawl but remembered himself and his vow to ignore Potter. It was enough that he’d given Potter the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

But when Potter dropped his quill and it rolled underneath Draco’s chair, the latter instinctively reached down to pick it up. Draco found himself reddening and kicking himself in his head only after Potter had said a polite thank you and given Draco a mischievous grin that couldn’t have meant anything at all innocent.

Ignoring Potter was going to be much harder than Draco had anticipated.

* * *

Another reason why ignoring Harry Potter would be difficult: he and Draco were in the same dormitory. A rather unfortunate situation in Draco’s opinion. But despite being around one another most of the time, neither boy had punched the other or hexed his ears off. It was a miracle, really.

The one positive was that they had been put in separate rooms. Except that all the eighth year boys shared the same bathroom.

While measures had been implemented for the sake of privacy, there had been more than one awkward encounter with Potter being partially naked. The Gryffindor didn’t seem to mind at all as he paraded about wearing only a low towel, exposing his toned chest and broad shoulders. Potter had always been skinny before—but unlike Draco, who was healthily tall and slim, Potter had just seemed underfed. Unnaturally thin. And when Potter had arrived at school in first year, the boy had eaten and eaten as though he had never seen food before. Of course, back then, Draco was far too self-absorbed and arrogant to have taken notice, but he could see now what food had given Potter. His cheeks had a healthy glow, and he had grown slightly taller—not that he was as tall as Draco. He still held a few inches on Potter, which had been the source of satisfaction for much of his younger years. But while Draco was as lean as he’d ever been, Potter had gained some muscle. Draco often found himself much _too_ obliged to look at Potter’s bare chest.

Damn Potter.

Draco himself always covered up. The scars from the _Sectumsempra_ curse weren’t exactly pretty. While Snape had done his best to prevent scarring, the curse was intended for “enemies”, and the professor had elaborated by saying that it was supposed to leave ugly marks behind. It had made his mother cry when she’d seen them. Draco could remember tears running down her beautiful face as Narcissa Malfoy hugged her son tightly and refused to let him go. 

That and there was a different kind of mark, the one placed by Lord Voldemort when he was sixteen. The Dark Mark had since faded and failed to move since Voldemort’s death, but it was still visible. Draco never went anywhere without long sleeves.

This morning, Draco was in far too foul a mood to risk any interaction with Potter, and thus found himself trudging upstairs to the girl’s bathroom. He found Pansy sitting at a vanity, meticulously applying eyeliner in front of the mirror. Pansy Parkinson always dressed to impress—herself, mind you, she would never care what others thought of her—and today was no different. While there wasn’t much to do with her school robes, Pansy took to styling her hair in a braided up-do and creating a glamorous makeup look. If Pansy was surprised to see Draco, she didn’t show it. She was too busy drawing a wing on the corner of her eye sharp enough to give whoever touched it a paper cut.

“Draco dear, you _do_ know this is the girl’s bathroom?” she said, leaning towards her reflection as she searched for imperfections.

“Yes,” Draco replied.

“And you are still here because...?”

“I need to take a shower and our _beloved saviour_ insists upon horrendous indecency.”

Pansy rolled her eyes in her classic fashion. “In other words, you can’t stop ogling him.”

“_Hardly_,” Draco snapped. “I just want to get ready in peace, is all.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

Draco muttered to himself as he went to take a shower. Bloody Pansy being a nuisance as always. He tried not to think of Potter as he gently scrubbed the skin on his arms. But it was inevitable. He found himself wondering where the small scar on Potter’s sternum had come from. It was very noticeable as it was pale and slightly pink while the rest of Potter’s skin was a warm toffee colour. Maybe he’d earned it during the battle.

Draco looked to his Dark Mark and made another futile attempt at washing the dark lines away. He wasn’t surprised to see afterward that it hadn’t made a difference except for making the skin surrounding it pink and raw. With a sigh, Draco towelled his hair dry before exiting the shower to grab his clothes.

Only, there was a problem.

His clothes weren’t there.

Draco wrapped his towel around his waist before stomping over to where Pansy was now lounging in an armchair reading a book.

“Where are my clothes.” It was more a statement than a question. There was no doubt in Draco’s mind that she was the culprit.

Pansy raised her eyebrows. “How would I know?” she said, not bothering to hide her smirk.

“Pansy, I swear to Merlin.”

“If I were to guess, I’d say the house-elves must have taken them back to your dorm.”

If Draco hadn’t so much self-control, he might’ve hexed Pansy into a slug right then and there. As it was he gave her a filthy glare that indicated the conversation was far from over. Pansy simply smiled and blew Draco a kiss as he walked to his room, fuming. Pansy was a dirty woman.

Dirty, and _dead_.

Luckily, most students were too busy getting themselves ready for the day to notice Draco. But when he rounded the corner, Draco nearly walked into Potter.

_Salazar, Godric, Rowena and Helga above_. Draco wanted to throw himself into the Black Lake.

“Sorry—“ Potter began before stopping abruptly. Staring.

Draco followed his line of vision to the scars on his chest. This day was just getting better and better.

Feeling an angry flush heat up his cheeks, Draco covered the scars with his arms. “It’s rude to stare, Potter,” he spat before shoving past.

Once he finally had put his uniform on, Draco called Pansy many very inappropriate words in his head. Words that would’ve made his mother faint.

Draco tended to not curse aloud by habit; his father’s favourite punishment for swearing was a particularly horrible jinx that would fill Draco’s mouth with the taste of soap. “A cleaning charm for a filthy mouth,” Lucius would say. Not that it happened more than twice. Draco had become very cautious, to say the least. But in his head, he used almost as much foul language as Weasley, which was definitely saying something. That whole family swore like sailors.

It would seem Draco was entirely out of any luck, for as he went to pack his bag he was unable to find his Charms essay.

Bloody hell.

Forcing himself to take deep breaths, Draco recalled his steps. But he _had_ put his essay neatly by his Charms textbook—Draco wasn’t one to be sloppy or forgetful. So that left him with only one possibility: it had been stolen.

Perhaps before everything, it may have come as a surprise, but now... Draco had almost expected it. It had been the first thought in his mind.

With a barely muffled groan, Draco prepared himself for the giant _T_ he would receive on his absent assignment. Despite the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he would face his failure like a man. Like a Malfoy.

Only Malfoys didn’t fail.

* * *

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a Troll for this,” said Professor Flitwick with an apologetic yet firm tone. Draco wanted to defend himself; he wanted to tell him that he had completed his assignment, but held back. That would be far more embarrassing. He was about to reply with a “yes sir” when Potter spoke up.

“But he did the assignment, professor.”

Draco winced, wishing he could hex Potter’s mouth shut.

“I saw him finish it yesterday in the library,” Potter added.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Potter,” said Professor Flitwick, “without the physical assignment here, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do.”

The professor sighed. “However, seeing as this is unprecedented, I am willing to give Mr. Malfoy until our next lesson to procure the assignment. Do not waste the opportunity.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Draco, glaring daggers at Potter as soon as Professor Flitwick’s back was turned.

Draco spent the rest of the class trying to think of who might have taken his essay. It would have to have been one of his roommates. He doubted he would get it back in one piece, so he decided instead to draw up another plan for his essay. Professor Flitwick was revising some spells that Draco was already quite accomplished with, and since they would not be practicing _Aguamenti _until the following lesson, he didn’t bother to pay attention.

When the class was finished, Draco followed Potter out before yanking him aside.

“What the—oh, it’s you. What’s up?”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” muttered Draco. “I don’t need you meddling about in things that don’t concern you.”

“I was being nice,” said Potter. “You know, that thing _normal_ people do. Would you rather I let you get failed?”

“Yes!”

“Are you really that stubborn?”

“I may have lost most of it, but I do have _some_ pride left, Potter. A Malfoy receives his failures with grace. I doubt you would understand.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand. That’s because you’re full of shit.”

“I’m sorry, I must’ve misheard you.”

“You heard quite well what I said,” said Potter, not backing down. “Accepting help isn’t a bad thing, Malfoy. Everyone needs it sometimes. You’ve got to stop thinking you’re better than everyone else just because you _insist_ on being self-efficient.”

Draco was at a loss for a response. Luckily, they were interrupted and he was spared the added humiliation.

“You alright, Harry?” said Weasley, hand on the wand in his pocket. The message was clear: if Draco was at all threatening Potter, Weasley would curse him into oblivion.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Potter, but he didn’t even glance in his friend’s direction. “What happened to your essay, anyway? Did you lose it?”

“_No_,” Draco scoffed. “I’m not that dense. One of my roommates must’ve thought it a brilliant joke, that’s all.”

“What?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I’m not exactly well-liked, Potter.”

“Well, I—” Potter shook his head. “Whatever. It isn’t right.”

“The fact that it isn’t right doesn’t stop it from happening. I’ve done many things that weren’t right,” Draco said, before changing the subject. “I’ll just lock up my things when I’m done with them. It’s not an issue.”

Potter was about to argue when Granger walked up, frowning. “We’re going to be late, Harry. Come on, Ron.”

“Right,” said Potter, turning away.

Weasley didn’t move. “If I hear you’re up to anything... You’ll regret it.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, challenging him. “_Bite me_, Weasley,” he seethed, whirling around before the redhead could respond. He felt himself grin as he walked downstairs to Potions.

His day was suddenly looking a lot better.

* * *

“Hey, er, Malfoy,” Draco looked over from the table in the eighth year common room. Stephen Cornfoot, a Ravenclaw and one of Draco’s roommates stood in front of him, fiddling with a button of his robes anxiously.

“Yes?” Draco drawled in annoyance when he didn’t continue.

“I—I’m sorry. Here’s your Charms homework. I’m sorry I took it.” Cornfoot thrust the scroll of parchment at him and darted away, not waiting for a reply.

“_What in Salazar's name_—” Draco wondered out loud for a minute why Cornfoot would give it back, why he hadn’t destroyed it already.

Then he knew.

Potter.

Shoving his chair away from the table, Draco wrapped his scarf around his neck and stormed after Cornfoot.

He hadn’t gotten very far when he saw Potter talking to Cornfoot. It didn’t appear to be a very jovial conversation. Potter had that fiery look in his eyes—the look that made Draco think the Boy Who Lived could conquer the world if he wanted to. The look that Potter had when anyone he cared about was threatened.

Draco had nearly exploded before he’d seen Potter’s expression. He’d never think Potter would look that way about him. It baffled Draco enough to diffuse his anger a bit.

Not that he wasn’t still livid.

He walked up to Potter when he saw Cornfoot all but run away from the Gryffindor. “Are you kidding me?”

At least Potter had the decency to look sheepish.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Potter! I can damn well handle myself!” Draco spat.

“It’s not right,” Potter said quietly.

“_It’s none of your business_, is what it is! Leave me alone!”

“Whatever, Malfoy. We’ll see if you change your mind when you fail a class because some git stole your stuff.” Potter snapped, walking away before Draco could retort.

How _dare_ Potter leave first? Draco was the angry one!

“I hope a bludger hits you in your stupid face!” he called after the boy’s retreating figure.

* * *

“And he had the _audacity_ to walk off first! Like _he_ had anything to be mad about!” Draco was stretched across a luxuriously soft couch as he ranted to Pansy.

“Wow, what a tosser,” said Pansy in a completely deadpan tone, flipping the page she had been reading.

“I know! How dare he—you don’t care, do you?” Draco faced his friend.

“Not in the slightest.”

“You’re supposed to be supportive.”

“Draco, darling, I thought we had established this already.” Pansy looked up from her magazine. “I’m not going to pretend to give a fuck when I clearly don’t. It’s a waste of energy, and frankly, I have other more important things to worry about.”

“Like _the hottest new hair potions this autumn_?”

“Sod off, you wanker.”

“Language, Parkinson. What would daddy dearest say if he heard such foul words coming out of your pretty mouth?”

“He would be very proud. Besides, I’ve done worse things with my mouth than utter a few cuss words.”

Draco glared at her. “You are vulgar.”

“Stating the obvious, my love.”

“Pansy. Can you please pretend that my suffering means something to you? Just for a single moment?”

“Ugh. Fine,” Pansy whined. “Here’s my take on it: Potter fancies your pants off.”

“_What_?”

“In my experience, a boy only does something as nice, albeit stupid, as that if he likes you,” said Pansy in a matter-of-fact manner. “Potter is no exception.”

“You’re joking.”

“Draco, I don’t waste my breath making pathetic jokes. The fact is that Potter clearly fancies you, which is perfect because you fancy him too.”

“I don’t—Potter—he doesn’t even like men!”

Pansy gave him a withering look. “Draco, you _idiotic twat_. Are you blind? Merlin’s beard, I can’t deal with you.”

“Potter is disastrously bisexual. You’re telling me that you haven’t noticed him flirting with boys? Even you?”

“Well, I _noticed_,” said Draco. “I just didn’t think it meant anything.”

“I’m going to ignore that,” Pansy closed her magazine and got to her feet. “I could spend the next five hours explaining why I think you two love each other, but I’ll be taking a well-deserved, long hot bath instead. Send me the wedding invitation.”

And then Pansy left, leaving Draco staring at the blank ceiling as his heartbeat uncontrollably. Draco had entertained the idea that maybe Potter had some sort of interest in him before but always shoved it down. They had far too much baggage. Too much history.

But that didn’t stop his chest from fluttering every time he heard his name.

* * *

The next few weeks passed without incident. Draco had handed his essay in and received an Outstanding. But elated as he felt, it only made him think about Potter.

Draco didn’t want to think about Potter. Especially after his discussion with Pansy.

On the Monday before Valentine’s Day, Draco bumped into Luna.

“Oh, Draco! Wonderful to see you again!” Luna beamed.

“Hello, Luna. How are you?” Draco couldn’t hold back his smile. Luna has that effect on him.

“Splendid!” said Luna, before leaning in to whisper, “I think Ginny’s going to ask me to be her Valentine.”

Draco blinked. “Ginny? As in Ginevra Weasley?”

“Yes, only don’t call her Ginevra; she doesn’t like it.”

“Mhm.”

“It was quite a surprise you know, when she broke things off with Harry. Not that it wasn’t mutual, of course. But then she asked me on a date... Can you imagine the shock I had then—”

“Luna.”

“Yes?”

“Are you dating Ginny?”

“Why, yes I am. Why do you want to know?”

“Well, if you are a couple, then wouldn’t it be implied that you’d be each other’s Valentines?” said Draco.

Luna rubbed her chin. She did that a lot. It made her look quite a lot like Albus Dumbledore. “One can never be too sure,” she said.

“And what about you? Are you going to ask Harry to be your Valentine?”

Draco coughed. “Luna—I really think you’ve lost your mind this time.”

“But you love him. I can tell.”

“I—” Draco paused. He could confide in Luna. “Alright. I like him. But I don’t think I’d say I _love_ him.”

Luna hummed thoughtfully. “That’s fair. For what it’s worth, Harry quite likes you too. I’d be surprised if you didn’t know. He doesn’t hide it as you do. Then again, he’s never been able to hide his feelings,” she said, before adding, “you can always see it in his eyes,” and gesturing to her own pale silver ones.

“Well, I’m afraid I have to go; I promised Neville I’d come to visit his Mimbulus Mimbletonia today.”

Draco bid her farewell and watched her skip away before turning to look out the nearest window. The sky was full of dark grey clouds that threatened to release buckets of rain at any moment. As a result, the quidditch pitch was empty except for—

Potter.

Draco watched the mounted figure twist and turn in the air, at one point even riding without any hands. The show-off. Sure, there wasn’t anyone watching him, but that was beside the point.

Potter hopped off his broom and fell down to the grass on his back, a wide grin on his face. He looked up as he lay on the ground, and met Draco’s gaze. Potter smile faltered slightly but he waved. Draco blushed and ducked out of view, almost dropping his books in the process. Cursed Potter and making Draco clumsy.

Draco had just regained balance when a quaffle came soaring through the window, nearly hitting him in the head if it weren’t for his quick Seeker reflexes. However, as he made to grab the quaffle, he dropped his books. Draco scowled in vexation. He went over back to the window, where he saw Potter sitting up and smiling up at him.

“Join me for a game?” Potter called from below.

“No. You nearly broke my neck!” Draco shouted back.

Potter shrugged. “My bad.”

Draco rolled his eyes but found himself smirking at Potter’s antics. “Prepare to get your arse kicked, Potter!” he said as he threw the quaffle down at the other boy and collected his things before running to his dormitory.

Ten minutes later, Draco stood leaning against one of the stands with his broomstick in hand. Potter moved towards him. His raven hair was wilder than usual from the cold wind, and Draco resisted the urge to smooth it out.

“Hey, ferret-face.” Potter greeted with a smirk.

“Hey, scar-head,” Malfoy said back. “You ready to lose?”

“I think you should be asking yourself that question.”

“Never.”

Potter smiled wider. “First to fifty?”

“You’re on.”

In the end, Draco won. While Potter was swifter and nimbler and a superior flier, Draco had more accuracy when it came to scoring.

“You know, I only became Seeker because of you,” said Draco as they sat on one of the benches after their game. “I was always a much better Chaser.”

Potter chuckled. “We were so stupid when we were younger.”

“‘Were’? I’m afraid I have to disagree with you there,” Draco snickered as Potter playfully pushed his shoulder.

“Git.”

Silence stretched over the pair, leaving them in a comfortable quietude. Then Potter cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry for getting involved with the whole homework thing,” he said. “I just think that sort of thing isn’t fair. Even if you used to be a bit of a bully before. But I won’t step in again. Not unless you ask me to.”

“I’m sorry too,” Draco confessed. “You were only trying to help. And you did. Help, I mean.”

Potter gave him a small smile. “I like hanging out with you, Draco. You’re different from “Malfoy”. Not closed off like you usually are, saying nasty things to get people to leave you alone.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say my name before,” Draco replied.

“It’s nice,” said Potter softly. “Draco,” he added slowly.

Draco felt his face redden again. “Well, it’s certainly much more unique than _Harry_.”

Potter laughed. “I’m sure it’s the most unique name I’ve ever heard.”

“I used to be so proud that my name was in the school motto,” Draco shook his head in amusement. “One time Blaise put a tickling hex on me while I was sleeping to see what would happen.”

“And what did happen?”

“Let’s just say he had a very miserable itch in a very unfortunate place.”

Harry cracked up at that. “Remind me not to tickle you.”

“_Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_. Never tickle a sleeping dragon.”

The two boys laughed together like old friends, even as the clouds opened up and rained down on them. They jumped up and ran off the field towards the castle, leaving their differences behind in the mud.

* * *

It was five days later when Draco found himself the recipient of unwanted attention. He was leaving the Great Hall after breakfast when he was cornered by two Hufflepuff students, both wearing the same disgusted expression with their wands in their gloved hands.

“Looks like the snake has slithered into the badger’s den,” said the taller one with sandy brown hair and a wide nose.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re quite proud of yourself for that one,” Draco drawled, standing tall. He didn’t step back, holding his ground. He wouldn’t let these two twats to threaten him. 

The other boy shoved Draco at the wall. “You don’t get to talk, _Death Eater_.”

“Yet I still am. You two are quite bad at this, aren’t you?”

The shorter boy’s ears turned pink before his mouth curved into a menacing smile. “_Silencio_!”

Draco rolled his eyes. Elementary spell-work, honestly.

“Not so chatty now, huh?”

Draco vividly imagined his fingers curling around the taller boy’s throat. _We’ll see how cocky you are when I strangle you_.

“My sister died fighting You-Know-Who and your friends. Bet you don’t even know her name,” the short one said, his bright yellow hair flopping as he moved his head. “You lot just killed for fun.”

_Circe_. As if Draco had ever been able to stomach torturing another person, let alone kill them. 

“But don’t worry, I forgive you.”

Draco’s head snapped up to look the boy in the eye just as he raised his hand and knocked Draco to the ground. The cold marble floor didn’t do much to cushion the blow, and Draco was left winded and gasping for breath. If you could call it gasping—there was still a silencing spell on him.

“Oops. I _lied_,” the boy spat, kicking Draco in his side.

Draco lay still as the other boy joined in, and they kicked him in his legs, arms, stomach—the taller boy even punched his nose, causing blood to spill onto the floor.

“Look at you—_pathetic_.”

“You regret it now, don’t you? Going to beg for forgiveness when I’m through with you, that’s for sure.”

Draco felt rage burn and sizzle inside him. He did the rudest thing he could while without a voice. He spat at the shorter boy’s feet, relishing in the sound of saliva hitting his leather shoes.

“F...” Draco wheezed, resisting the spell. It was poorly cast, and as a result weak and vulnerable. “Fuck... you.”

The boy snarled and grabbed Draco by the front of his robes, pulling back his fist as he prepared to launch another assault on Draco’s bloody face—

Someone hauled the boy away before he could take a swing.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Harry in a low voice, that thundering look in his eyes. Weasley yanked the taller boy to his feet beside him. He didn’t look happy either.

Granger came rushing over to where Draco slumped against the wall, the white marble splattered with deep crimson blood. _Looks like a bloody murder scene_.

“Are you alright, Malfoy? I think they broke your nose.” Granger helped him to his feet.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed, what with the blood and all.” Draco’s voice was hoarse from breaking the charm.

Granger frowned and muttered something unintelligible under her breath. “Be quiet. I’m taking you to Madam Pomfrey,” she said to Draco before turning to Harry and Weasley. “And you two are going straight to Headmistress McGonagall. Try _not_ to kill them.” This was said pointedly to Harry, who looked in that moment like he might actually do it.

When they fumbled up the stairs to the Hospital Wing and Draco lay down on a bed that smelled strongly of lemons, Madam Pomfrey fretted over his injuries.

“Merlin above,” she scolded, setting his nose back in place and cleaning away the blood. “I would have expected Mr. Potter, perhaps, but you were the last person in my mind of being in a _brawl_.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. More like I took a decent beating,” said Draco, wincing. He was surprised to see Granger was still there.

“Why did you help me?” he said when Madam Pomfrey left to fetch a potion for the swelling.

Granger sighed. “Because however nasty you used to be, you don’t deserve it. Besides, Harry told me you two have become... friends.” She gave Draco a curious look as if expecting him to say something different.

“I don’t know about that.”

“Harry looks happy when he talks to you. Even if you insult him all the time. He likes you.” Granger smiled. “And you like him.”

Draco laughed nervously. “I really don’t—”

“I don’t mind. It’s fine. Just... don’t hurt him. Harry’s lost a lot of people he cares about. I’m not sure how much more he’d be able to take,” said Granger cautiously. A beat passed, and then: “I hope you feel better.”

Then she was gone. Perhaps there was more to Hermione Granger than the blunt know-it-all he’d pegged her as.

* * *

That evening, Draco reclined in a cosy settee while he read his book in front of the fireplace, the only sounds being the scribbling of quills and hushed chatter. All was calm and quiet for a few precious minutes before chaos ensued.

The door flew open and fireworks shot forth like bullets, exploding into tiny red hearts that floated down around the room like snow. About ten or so boys came barrelling inside the common room, all shirtless with red roses in their mouths. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were doing some of manic dance and Neville Longbottom and Weasley were both looking extremely uncomfortable, awkwardly tossing around rose petals from the tight pockets of their jeans.

Then there was Harry.

His curly hair looked remarkably somewhat kempt, and his eyes sparkled with mirth like emeralds. His jeans fitted sinfully well, not leaving much to the imagination. And his chest was—covered in _glitter_?

A quick glance made Draco realise they were all covered in red glitter. _Merlin_.

Harry caught him staring at his glittering torso, and winked, his mouth curving upwards despite the rose he held between his teeth. _What the fuck?_ Was this a dream? Was Draco going mad?

“Ronald—what—are you wearing glitter?” Granger appeared just as gobsmacked as Draco was.

“Don’t ask,” Weasley grimaced.

“They lost a bet,” Pansy’s voice came from behind Draco. “Losers had to parade about in a vat of body glitter for Valentine’s Day. Although the roses were entirely their own addition.”

“I’m assuming this was your idea?” said Draco.

“I may have... contributed.”

Draco snorted. “You’re something else, Parkinson.”

“Hey, you’re enjoying the show. Don’t act like you don’t wish you had been the one to come up with it.”

“I am most certainly _not_ enjoying it.”

“This denial thing is getting pretty old,” said Pansy. “Just admit it already: you think Potter’s hotter than a volcano.”

Draco stuttered and turned back to his book. “Shut up.”

Pansy sighed. “That’s an improvement, I suppose.”

He had just lifted his fingers to turn the page when he was hit in the face with a flailing rose. Only one moron could have thrown so poorly.

Draco rubbed his eye and looked up to see Harry grinning down at him. “Hey.”

He wondered how one word could make his heart skip a beat. “You’re covered in glitter,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“I mean,” said Draco, flustered. “You don’t usually wear glitter.”

“We lost a bet to some of the girls,” Harry explained. “They’re worryingly excited about it.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

Harry looked down at the rose. “I don’t suppose you’d want to play quidditch again sometime?”

“Alright,” Draco breathed. Harry was far too close for him to have any coherent thoughts. He shook his head. “I mean, maybe we can study together too. Or whatever it is most friends do.”

“Draco, I’m asking you out.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to—”

Draco closed his book. “I do,” he said quickly.

Harry smiled. “Great.” Then he did it again; he winked. “See you tomorrow."

Draco was left clutching the rose as Harry walked away, laughing and shining like an iridescent ruby.

* * *

“You’re joking.”

Pansy yawned and burrowed deeper into the covers. “Nope,” she said, before sighing and pouting morosely at Draco. "At least let me do your hair.”

“I don’t see the point, but go ahead.” Draco slumped into the chair in front of the vanity next to Pansy’s bed.

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t,” said Pansy as she rolled out of bed, still clutching the duvet. “Now sit up. What would your father say if he saw you slouching like that?”

“He’d stick a ruler to my backside.”

“Exactly. Don’t drive me to do the same.”

Draco huffed as Pansy inspected his wet hair. She was pensive as she twirled a platinum lock around her finger. “You have your mother’s hair,” she commented. “She spent an hour every morning straightening it.”

“How do you know that?” said Draco. He’d never seen his mother with hair that wasn’t as straight as a rod.

“Our mothers were friends, you know. I know plenty about her.”

“I suppose.”

“Don’t look so glum,” chastised Pansy as she pinched his cheeks. “She mentioned you in every sentence she spoke. _These tarts are exquisite—Draco would love them_,” she mimicked Narcissa’s prim accent.

Draco felt himself smile at that. He’d always been so close to his mother until...

“Have you written her?” said Pansy, her face now sympathetic.

“No.”

“She misses you.”

“How—”

“She _loves_ you, Draco,” said Pansy before he could ask.

Draco shook his head bitterly. “Not anymore. She can’t even look me in the eye.”

“She was _scared_. You terrified everyone back then. We all worried about you.”

“I know,” Draco said softly.

He didn’t say another word as Pansy fiddled with his hair. She hauled dozens of potions Draco had never even heard of onto the table and set to work. She would be the best student in the whole of Hogwarts if she was as dedicated to her schoolwork. 

“Have you ever considered growing it out?” said Pansy, breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

Pansy looked at him in the mirror expectantly.

“I’ll look too much like my father,” Draco explained.

His friend nodded thoughtfully, chewing on her lip before saying, “You know, everyone says you look like your father, but when I look at you, I only see your mother.”

“You’re definitely _your_ father’s child,” Draco said, sipping from his glass.

“Good. My mother is a cunt.”

Draco was helpless as he burst out laughing. “I love you, you know that?”

Pansy preened, touching up her dark red lipstick in the mirror. “I love you too, you tit.”

“Move over, I want to see my hair.”

Pansy finished reapplying her lipstick and reluctantly moved aside. Draco peered into the mirror at his reflection. His hair was arranged neatly and showed off his natural curls. His were nothing like Harry’s, of course, whose black tresses always appeared more like a crow’s nest. Draco’s own white-blond waves were light and fell neatly into place.

“It looks wonderful. Thank you, Pans,” said Draco with a small smile, reaching to fidget with a stray lock on his forehead.

“Don’t mess it up or I’ll hang you by your toes over the lake,” Pansy smacked his hand away, using her wand to fix the discrepancy herself. “But you’re welcome. Now go, before you’re late.”

“Harry won’t be there for another half an hour.”

“Exactly. Really, Draco, didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

Draco shrugged. “Why would she teach me about boys when she thinks I’m straight?”

Pansy froze. “You haven’t told her yet?” she sounded genuinely shocked. Draco supposed that she had reason to be surprised; he and his mother were very close.

“I’ve disappointed her enough. To tell her she’s not going to get the grandchild she wants would be too much.”

“For her or for you?”

A pause.

“Both,” said Draco, standing up and smoothing out his coat. It was Saturday, which meant he didn’t have to wear his school robes. This morning he had picked out a dark blue winter coat, and a light pair of jeans. He was attempting a more casual style, and thus abandoned his robes in favour of some Muggle fashion.

He gave himself a quick once-over as he made to leave. “Thank you again,” he told Pansy, slipping out the door.

* * *

The library was almost entirely abandoned, the only activity being books flying from shelf to shelf, and a small handful of students furiously scribbling at different tables. Draco found his table easily enough and sat down. Then he stood up again. He repositioned himself in the chair. He glanced at his watch.

Ten thirty-seven. Harry was supposed to meet him at eleven.

He was going to lose his mind.

Draco tried to concentrate on the textbook in front of him, but all he could think about was Harry and glitter and the rose that occupied his bedside table. His dorm room had been quiet since Harry had threatened Cornfoot, no one so much as looking in his direction. Really, it was ridiculous.

He heard an amused noise above him. Draco looked up to see Harry looming over him, Potions books in hand.

“It would seem we both wanted to be punctual,” said Draco.

Harry plopped into the chair across from him and gave him a picture-perfect smile. “Yeah. You look nice.”

Draco blushed. Why wasn’t Harry as anxious as him?

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “Nice sweater.”

Harry was also wearing jeans, although his were ripped at the knees. He had a green sweater with a golden letter “H” on it. “Molly makes them every year for the family.”

“Molly?”

“Weasley. Ron’s mum. She’s brilliant.” Harry said fondly.

“Right,” Draco mumbled absently. _For the family_... No wonder Harry was so protective over the Weasleys. They’d taken him in as their own. But what about Harry’s Muggle relatives?

“I thought we could maybe go over the properties of eel blood,” said Harry. “Unless you want to study on your own, which is fine.”

“We can do it together,” said Draco, opening his book.

They spent the next two hours revising some potion ingredients they needed to know well for their NEWT exams, although it was difficult to focus with Harry right there next to him. Harry seemed to be struggling with the same problem.

Everything felt so... _easy_ between them in those moments. Harry would laugh when Draco accused him of possessing below-average intelligence, as though seeing it as a compliment rather than an insult. His face would light up when he finally grasped a concept after several minutes of confused discussion. It was contagious, Draco realised as he found himself just as elated.

It was as though Harry was no longer the boy who had nearly killed Draco in the bathroom back in sixth year, and Draco was no longer the boy who used blood slurs and joined the Death Eaters just to save his own skin.

“If I try to read anymore, my head is explode,” groaned Harry, slumping forward on top of his books.

“Thank Merlin. Me too.” Draco agreed, dropping his quill in defeat.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to be the first,” he shrugged.

Harry barked a laugh. “Amazing.”

Draco’s cheeks burned. “Do you want to go for a walk?” he said, changing the subject. 

“Sure, yeah.”

They packed their things away and left the library. The hallways were a lot busier now, as most students headed for the Great Hall for lunch. Harry and Draco waded through the crowds to the great looming doors of the Entrance Hall. Draco slipped slightly on the stone steps, and Harry took his head to steady him. But as they cleared the stairs and began making their way around the grounds, Draco realised that Harry hadn’t let go. His hand was warm and firm against his own and made Draco’s heart race.

As they neared a tall birch tree a brief distance away from the castle, Harry stopped and finally released his grip. He sat down and gestured for Draco to do the same.

“My mum and dad used to sit here,” Harry said to him when he had joined him underneath the tree. “I wondered what it would be like.”

“To see them?”

“To sit here in their place.”

Draco looked down at their almost touching fingers. They were so different, yet the same. He stared at the scar on the back of Harry’s hand.

_I must not tell lies._

The scar shifted as the hand raised to lift Draco’s chin. Harry’s eyes bore into Draco’s, and he slowly leaned in—

Draco shrank away. “Wait.”

“Did I do something wrong?” For the first time since the war, Harry looked vulnerable. Afraid.

“No. Merlin, no,” Draco assured him. “You’re perfect—I mean, this is...” he sighed. “I hurt you so many times. What if I hurt you again?”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, all I know is that I like you,” Harry took his hand. “And you’re worth the risk.”

“You deserve better,” Draco argued weakly.

“You’re more than enough for me.”

Draco blushed and quickly wiped his dampening eyes. “Merlin, you’re such a sap.”

Harry smiled. “It’s all your fault,” he said. “I mean, being so gorgeous and all.”

“Shut up,” Draco shoved him on his shoulder.

Harry’s eyes gleamed. “Make me,” he whispered as he closed the space between them. Draco could feel his breath on his jaw, and it sent shivers down his spine. He turned and gently pressed his lips to Harry’s.

It was warm, and Harry smelled something like nutmeg, only different; not as sharp, and before Draco could even comprehend what he was doing, Harry had his hand on the small of his back, and he was kissing him with such softness yet harshness, and Draco felt like they were everything and nothing all at once as they kissed.

So maybe they hadn’t always gotten things right, maybe they’d taken a few wrong turns and made mistakes—right now, Draco felt all his worries and concerns slip away, and he couldn’t disagree that perhaps it _was_ worth the risk.

* * *

“I don’t see what you’re worried about,” said Harry.

“Of course you don’t,” Draco muttered. “Everyone loves you. You’re their saviour, or whatever else they call you.”

“Don’t do that,” Harry frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m not your enemy anymore.”

Draco sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I can see it now: _Wizarding Hero Seduced By Death Eater._”

“_Ex_-Death Eater,” Harry corrected.

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“Harry, you’re not listening to me,” said Draco, agitated. “Everyone will think I’ve given you a—a love potion, or something, and—”

“Let them think what they want. If they’re stupid enough to believe that you could have smuggled a _love potion_ past Hermione, then there’s no point in trying to convince them otherwise.”

Draco gave him a look. “Harry.”

Harry smirked. “Draco.”

Draco couldn’t help it; he smiled despite himself. “Sod off.”

“Love you too,” Harry laughed. “Really. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I have a lot to worry about. But maybe I can save it for another day. I have other things to do,” Draco leaned in for a quick kiss. Harry smiled against his lips.

“I really do love you, you know.”

“Harry, it’s been a month.”

“So?” Harry chuckled as he pecked Draco on the cheek and headed through the open doors leading to the Great Hall, tugging the latter behind him. Before Draco could protest, they were there, in front of everyone—holding hands.

Oh, Merlin, everyone was staring now. Draco gripped Harry’s hand.

“Hey guys,” Harry said coolly as he sat down at the eighth year table, pulling Draco into the seat next to him.

There was a long silence, as everyone was unsure what to say until Granger took the plunge.

“Hi, Harry. Hi, Draco. How are you?”

“Good,” they said in unison, and Draco blushed, taking a long drink from the goblet in front of him.

“So you two dating then?” Finnegan asked loudly, causing him to choke on his water.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, turning to Draco. “Are we?”

“I—I should hope so,” Draco wheezed, red in the face. Certainly, purebloods never spoke about such things so publicly and shamelessly.

As was to be expected, the table proceeded to explode into question after question. Draco didn’t know what to do with himself except push his poached eggs around his plate.

“Have you two, you, know, done it yet?”

“Seamus!”

“What? Aren’t you wondering?”

“No, Seamus,” said Harry with an exasperated smile. “Now get your mind out of the gutter.”

Morgana above, Draco was going redder by the minute.

“When did you become a thing?” Thomas asked eagerly.

“Er—Valentine’s,” Harry said off-handedly as he munched on toast.

“Bullocks,” grumbled _Weasley_, of all people, handing the beaming Thomas five galleons.

“I told you the rose was gonna win him over,” he told Weasley smugly.

“Yeah, yeah,” a depressed Weasley stuffed his mouth with bacon. Honestly, he and Harry ate enough for a small army between the two of them. Draco really had no idea how the Weasleys stayed so thin when they ate themselves to obesity at every meal. Draco personally had been taught from a young age not to overindulge and maintain his lean frame at all costs. Physical beauty meant everything to a Malfoy, and Draco was not exempt from that harsh standard. He had mastered multiple skin-clearing charms before he had even learned to write.

Something wet and cold was smeared across his cheek, drawing Draco away from his thoughts. He looked at Harry grinning at him with a finger covered in tomato sauce. Draco hastily leaned over for a serviette to clean his face.

“Tosser,” he grumbled, pulling Harry in for a kiss. Several groans sounded out around them.

“That is disgusting,” said Blaise.

Draco rolled his eyes and took a bite of his eggs.

“I was thinking we could head on over to the pitch after classes,” said Harry. “If you want to, that is,” he added.

Draco smiled. “Of course. I’d love to beat you again,” he said.

“Hey—bring a snitch in and there’ll be no competition.”

“You sound awfully confident, Potter.”

“I like my chances, _Malfoy_,” Harry shrugged.

“Mhm. Well, I’m going to be late for Arithmancy,” said Draco, taking a final sip of water before standing up.

“I’ll walk you,” said Harry, nearly falling over he got up so fast. Draco knew it was pointless to argue with him. He allowed Harry to take his hand and walk with him out of the hall. With Harry’s presence, he didn’t even notice all the staring and whispers. Draco gave Harry a quick peck on the cheek, delighting in the smile that graced Harry’s face.

Now he knew for certain that Harry was right. This was worth every risk Draco had made. The benefits of being with Harry far outweighed any of the drawbacks. Draco was the happiest he had ever been, and he had a feeling that Harry was, too.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this, please do leave a kudos or a comment; it makes my day. Thank you!  
— Jules


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